Tragedy & Time
by candlelight-conspirator
Summary: Alfred F. Jones's life turns upside down following a devastating loss within his family. Hoping to move forward, his parents look for a new start in a new country, but Alfred struggles to adjust. Haunted by the memories, he finds himself being forced to confront his past, and, with the aid of his new friends, searches for forgiveness and looks to move on.


_It's been almost a year since I've been on here. Whoa._

 _Honestly, I haven't watched Hetalia since I was 13 (I'm almost 17 now), so I'm not going to guarantee 100% accuracy in character portrayals here. This is just an idea that I've always had, but never got around doing until now. That, and I just really want to start writing again. Sorry if it seems a bit rushed or poorly written, as I'm still getting back into the hang of things and trying out different styles._

 _That being said, here's the first chapter. Enjoy!_

* * *

 ** _"_** ** _He was my best friend. You're not supposed to lose your best friend at my age. You're not supposed to lose your best friend ever."_**

 ** _Stewie Griffin_**

* * *

Alfred F. Jones wanted nothing more than to hide in the safety of his bed and sleep away the next 15 years.

He watched people – his new peers – hurrying through the snow, laughing and hooting and cursing the weather, from the passenger seat of his mother's car. The small building looming up ahead, his new school, looked to be about a third of the size of his old school. He frowned, unsure if he liked this downsize or not. Canadian schools were incredibly small in comparison to American schools. But change couldn't be that bad, right?

But he knew he didn't mean that. Change was something that barely crossed his mind a year ago, but now he spent a lot of his time thinking about it, about how much he despised it.

A year. Had it really been that long?

"Are you feeling okay, sweetie?"

Alfred turned to his mother, sitting in the driver's seat with a timid smile curling her lips. He hated it. He hated how she always had that stupid, stupid smile on her face. Her eyes – once bright blue and full of life, now a dull grey surrounded by dark bags – betrayed everything. She had become so hollow, so old, just over the span of several months. He knew she was trying for him, but he couldn't stand it.

He knew how to put on a faux face, though, and gave her one of his typical goofy grins. "Yeah, of course! Just a bit of the new-kid nerves," he laughed. "But don't worry mom, I'll know everybody by the time lunch rolls around."

"Do you want me to pick you up here after school, or are you going to take the bus?" She asked.

"I'll take the bus." He replied. Anything to avoid being at home for as long as he could.

"Do you know which one it is?"

"I'll find out."

With that, he quickly grabbed his bag from the floor of the car and slid it over his shoulder, desperate to avoid any further conversation. It was painful, almost robotic. He opened the door and stepped half way out. "Well, bye."

"Have a good da-"

He closed the door before she could her finish sentence, and was struck by a sudden gust of frigid Canadian wind. Moving to Canada in the middle of winter. Great call on his parents' part.

Sighing to himself, he walked up to the school, noticing that the parking lot was virtually deserted now. The bell rang just as he opened the door. _Great, late for class on my first day._

He squeezed through the door, pausing to observe the unfamiliar scene. People were hurrying to their classes, not even casting him a glance as they brushed by. Alfred reached into his pocket, grabbing a crumpled piece of paper and unfolding it. His locker number was at the top of the sheet, the timetable taking up the rest of it. His locker was 1039. Just down the hall.

He shoved the paper back into his pocket and inched his way through the thinning wave of people, muttering half-hearted apologies to those he bumped into while steadily growing more annoyed with his surroundings. His father had said something about Canada having about 40 million people. With those numbers, he expected the school – especially one so small – to be more sparsely populated.

Turning down the nearest hall, he breathed a sigh of relief when he finally stumbled upon his locker. He put his bag on the ground and opened the lock, not needing the paper for his combination. He'd memorized it the night before, when the nightmares chased away any chance of sleep. Opening the locker only presented him with yet another source of irritation, as the damn thing was too small to fit his bag.

Exasperated beyond belief, Alfred unzipped his bag, taking out whatever he didn't need for his morning classes and shoving the items in his locker. He took off his coat and hung it on the only hook in the locker (which was actually supposed to have three), then shut it and locked it up. He picked up his bag again and swung it over his shoulder, ready to head to his first class when he realized that the paper was still in his coat. He grumbled in extreme petulance and continued on down the hall. Screw it. He could find the room without the paper. He knew he had French; it was just a matter of looking at the doors.

 _English… English… Library… Computer lab… Business…_

Just as he was about to give up and head to the second floor, he spotted "French" in small letters on a door just down the hall. With all his luck, the door was closed, meaning he'd have to disrupt the class. Five minutes in and this was already a great first day.

He approached the door and stared at it for a moment. At his old school, he would've walked in, announcing "Fear not, for Alfred F. Jones has returned!" in a loud voice, usually while the teacher was just starting up the lesson. His friends would laugh, the teacher would scold him, while _he_ would simply stare from his seat at the back of the room. A small smile would creep upon his face, and Alfred would shoot him a wink. Yet here he was, a stranger, and when he looked to the back of the class, he would be staring at an unfamiliar face.

Alfred knocked on the door. For a moment, there was absolutely no noise coming from the room. After several long seconds, the door slowly creaked open, and he found himself staring into the crimson eyes of a boy a little shorter than him. "Yeah?"

"I'm Alfred. Uh, the new guy?"

A grin broke out on the boy's face, and he leaned against the doorframe. "So _you're_ the new kid! Lucky you. I gotta say, you're not as tan as I expected. Or buff. Aren't American teens supposed to be, like, super into football? Where are your muscles then?"

A young woman no older than 25 then walked across the room, flashing a wide smile as she stopped beside the boy. "Alfred! Bonjour! Bienvenue au Canada. Comment ça-va?"

He raised an eyebrow, having no clue what she'd just said. She realized this and laughed, crossing her arms. "Don't worry if your French isn't good. It's not as hard as it seems! And you look like a fast learner."

With that, she turned to the rest of the class. "Everyone! This is Alfred Jones, the new student that I've told you about."

"Hi Alfred," they mumbled, rather unenthusiastically.

"Would you like to say something to the class?" The teacher asked, turning back to him with warm brown eyes.

He was going to decline, but realized how lame that would seem. He didn't want to be _that_ new guy, so he turned to his new peers and flashed them his best smile. "Sure. I'm Alfred. I'm 17, from the United States. I got to Canada on Saturday, and… I haven't seen any eskimos or polar bears lately. Not even an igloo. I'm a little disappointed."

"Try Iqaluit," someone called out, and several snickers echoed throughout the room.

"Alright, thank you Alfred," the teacher said. "There's a free desk next to Gilbert. He can catch you up on what we're doing. Can you show him who you are, Gilbert?"

A hand went up at the very back of the room, waving back and forth nonchalantly. Alfred walked down the rows of desks towards the hand, to find that it belonged to the boy who'd opened the door. He fixed him with a lazy grin, observing Alfred intently. Alfred responded with a similar grin and took the seat next to him, kicking his bag under the desk as the teacher began the lesson.

"So you're American, huh?" The boy, Gilbert, asked.

"Best country in the world." Alfred replied with a smirk.

Gilbert scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "I don't care to hear about America," he said. "So the teacher. Just call her Madame. Last name ain't important. She's very sensitive and too happy, but generous with marks."

"And the work?"

"What are you, a nerd? Christ, we don't need another one of those."

To be honest, Alfred was – or had been – the farthest thing from a nerd. He'd much rather spend his time goofing around with his pals or watching horror movies, but…

"If you really care to know," Gilbert continued, interrupting his thoughts, "we're learning about the imparfait. You take French in America?"

"No."

"Then this course is gonna be a bucketful of fun for you," he told the dirty blond with palpable sarcasm. "What's your schedule? You got it on you?"

"In my locker."

"Genius. You memorized it, then?"

Alfred nodded. "For the most part, yeah."

"Lemme hear it then, Alfie."

Ignoring the childish nickname, Alfred thought for a moment. "French, history, spare… Uh… Math and science."

"Consider yourself lucky! You have all your morning classes with me," Gilbert informed him with a smirk. "I got music n' German after lunch. Sprechen Sie Deutsch?"

"I have no idea what you just said."

Gilbert blinked. "Do you speak _any_ other language?"

He shrugged. "I took Spanish, but I never paid attention. Teachers were always bitchy old women."

The widest of grins spread across the blond's face, and he chuckled. "You know what, Alfie? I think you and I are gonna be pretty good buds."

Alfred laughed at that, then Gilbert began telling him about the other students. He was partially listening, but his thoughts were growing louder and louder. He'd laughed plenty of times since the accident, but that was the first genuine one in a long time. And it felt… wrong.

"…then there's Elizabeta. She's hot and all, but– Hey, are you listening?"

Alfred jolted slightly, turning to Gilbert with a half dazed look. "What?"

The blond sighed, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. "C'mon man, I was almost done… Whatever, you'll find out all this stuff on your own. Eventually. There's one guy you should know of, actually. Wait, no – two. Ivan Braginsky is the first one. He's absolutely terrifying. If I were you, I'd stay as far away from him as I could. He's nothing but trouble. And then Ludwig. He's my brother, so if you'll be hanging out with me – which you should, because I'm the coolest guy at this lame ass school – he'll most likely be there too."

"So avoid Ivan, get to know Ludwig." Alfred echoed. "Got it."

"You got any siblings, Alfie?"

The question caught him completely off guard. His breath hitched in his throat, and he stared at Gilbert with large, hazy eyes. "What?"

"Brothers. Sisters. You got any?" The red-eyed boy asked again, irritated at having to repeat himself.

Alfred shook his head, a little too fast. "No," he said. "No, I don't have any siblings."

"Okay, that's all I wanted to know. Why do you look so strange about it? Ah well, that's not really important. Anyway, _here's_ an important question. You got a car? 'Cuz it's nice to get away from this place for lunch. Downtown is just a ten minute drive from here. My family only has one car, and my parents work, so Ludwig and I don't get to take it to school much."

Alfred suddenly pushed the chair back and stood up, catching Gilbert by surprise. "Hey, you alright?"

The American's head was down, his hair hanging over his baby blue eyes. Gilbert noticed that his hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides, and was about to repeat the question when Alfred lifted his head and smiled again.

"Sorry. I just have to use the washroom." He said. He lifted a foot to move, but stopped himself and looked at the slightly perplexed boy. "I don't drive," he told him, then headed for the door.


End file.
